By the time you read this, it’s likely I will have finished the novel I’m reading. And that leaves me with a bit of trepidation.
That’s because I currently have three nonfiction books sitting around the house with bookmarks in various places. I can read one for a bit but then I get distracted from it to the point. I put it down. I can pick it up the next day or so and have no problem — until I lose focus again.
Why does this concern me about a novel? Because I bet I picked up and put down half a dozen or more in the last 7-10 days, only to get a few pages in and not feel like reading it. It isn’t that I don’t like it or intend to permanently abandon it. They just don’t seem to fit whatever reading mood I am subconsciously in. And the jumping from nonficiton book to nonfiction book omay suggest that will start happening with novels.
Of course, that’s another reason to keep lots and lots of books around the house. It allows you a wide range to consider.
There are times when a feeling of expectancy comes to me, as if something is there, beneath the surface of my understanding, waiting for me to grasp it.
Sylvias Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
